Saving the World in so Many Days
by Chatting Airborne
Summary: Through a terrible misunderstanding with some school yard bullies and a snow plow, Kristoff finds himself locked in an asylum until a mysterious man calling himself "Pitch Black" bails him out. Next thing Kristoff knows, he is going to the Arendelle School of Science in Norway to foil the plans of the group Pitch calls "guardians". (a weak M for language and sketchy jokes)
1. Death by Salt Man

Kristoff saw her on the way home from school.

She was a standard kid with fuzzy strawberry blond hair and hazel eyes, getting picked on by standard schoolyard bullies. Normally Kris didn't look twice at shit like this because watching it bothered him. But on some rare occasions, it bothered him _not_ to watch.

This poor kid was being shoved back and forth between two girls bigger than her, while another watched. The fucked up part was that there were two faculty members having a chat just a few meters off. One of them took a lazy glance at the action before giving a huff and calling out some lame ass warning like, 'play nice, girls.' "We are!" roared one of the bullies in response, kicking the kid in the shins. Kristoff pursed his lips and glanced away, but the sound of hiccups grated against his ears and made him look again. He wished he hadn't.

Now the kid had started to cry. Big fat gulps of tears. Tears that couldn't be shaken by the hottest summer sun. This kid was having the worst day of her life and Kristoff was standing by covering the sidewalk with salt while the big snow disposal machine rolled the brown stuff down the road. Things were peachy.

"Please s-stop!" stuttered the kid between gusts of breath, sniffing and sputtering. "I- I'll tell my friend Jack on you! He'll kick your asses."

"Fuck kid!" hissed Kristoff under his breath. "Never say shit like that!" Per expectation the poor kid's face was shoved into the dirt.

"Eat piss!" one of the other girls called. "Where's Jack now? Where is he? Hey jack!" she called in a loud voice. The others began calling the name 'Jack' as well. No one came. In fact, as they began chanting Jack's name louder, jumping up and down on the dirt kid's back, the students around them hovered away in anxiety, playing elsewhere while the teachers averted their gaze. For about three minutes Kristoff took the onslaught in silence. Then he left the salt shovel lying on the ground and trudged towards the schoolyard fence in anger, where dirt kid was being fed grass from beneath the snow. When one bully undid her pants to pee on a chunk of ice nearby, terrible images of dirt kid being forced to lick it bulldozed into Kristoff's mind and sprung him forward like a wild cat. Soon he was at the edge of the fence and shaking its metal rungs. Shocked, all four bullies glanced up with wide eyes towards Kristoff, who looked at them with clenched fists.

"Hey you little fucks," he snarled.

"Are you Jack?" one of the kids blubbered. But Kristoff shook his head.

"My name is Kris. And if you hurt my man again I'll bulldoze your asses with my snow machine." At this point one of the bullies began crying profusely, while another one whizzed towards one of the faculty members and tugged on his shirt. The rest backed away from the fence and disappeared, leaving dirt kid to her own devices as she stood and dusted herself off. Her face was stained with mud and tears, which she wiped off with the sleeve of her shirt. Then she nodded to Kristoff. "Thanks for saving my butt," she muttered, sniffing again. With that, she turned and trudged towards the other side of the playground, disappearing behind some evergreens near the fence. Kristoff shook his head as he looked at her. But soon his eyes settled on a much more distressing subject.

A male teacher was stalking towards him with the school policeman, who had somehow materialized from inside the building three seconds after the bullies stepped away from dirt kid. Kristoff scowled as the two trudged forward. But instead of staying to have a chat, he slunk back towards his shovel and began working on the snow again. When he looked back the teacher and policeman were gone.

Chuckling, Kristoff continued his work. He even whistled for a little while, until he heard a group of footsteps trundling towards him. When he saw the bodies they belonged to he groaned. The teacher had formed a posse of two policemen and the presumable administrator, who adjusted his glasses and pumped his chest forward in the worst kind of macho affectation as they strode through the school's front double doors and made their way towards Kristoff.

"What's the matter officer?" drawled Kris, swinging his shovel around so that it sat over his shoulder. As he did one of the policeman removed his gun from his holster and pointed. "Don't you fucking get any closer, Sami!" the policeman roared, and Kristoff gritted his teeth. "Who the hell said I was Sami?"

"I've seen your fat grandparents skulking around and I don't like you one bit," the cop snapped, his eyes bulging from his sockets. When Kristoff stepped forward and swung his shovel to the ground, the teachers surrounding the policeman hit the deck and screamed, cowering and covering their heads as the policeman moved in on Kristoff like he was a big powder doughnut. In shock Kristoff backed towards the salt machine, which was making a returning round down the street. Beckoning for the man in the driver's seat to help him, he kept the shovel held protectively in front of him while the policeman tried to close the distance between them.

"Stand down!" the policeman shrieked, gesticulating his gun in all directions as Kristoff stepped backwards. "I just want to get my manager to clear this up for me. He's in the salt machine," added Kristoff with a grin, pointing to the man in the salt machine. To show his returning good will the policeman fired a warning shot through the sidewalk at Kristoff's feet, making the young man yelp and jump back in fear. When the gun was pointed again, the sweat began dripping from Kris' face and he held up his hands in surrender. "Don't shoot me," he whispered, biting his lip in fear. "I'm really young and I'd like to live at least twenty more years in the sun."

"There won't be any sun where you're going!" sang the policeman, nearly dancing. His excitement was boundless, leading Kristoff to believe that he hadn't gotten this sort of action since training school. Or maybe he was experiencing PTSD, the way Nam vets did when they got back to America in the seventies. Oh, wait this guy wasn't even thirty.

"Stand down!" roared the cop. The buttons at his throat looked ready to burst. "Stand the fuck down!"

"I'm unarmed!" cried Kristoff. "I'm white, you can't shoot!"

"Stand DOWN!"

"But-"

"STAND DOWN!"

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Kristoff looked from side to side in panic. He had never been good in a crisis. And in this crisis, on the verge of death, he was spastic. Right about now the empty road looked like heaven. If he could get across, he could disappear into the alleyway at the side of the street and hide in the Super Target with the bedclothes until things cleared up. Making his decision, he bounded forward, followed by three whizzing bullets, none of which caught him. When he cleared the center of the road, he gave a victorious whoop and punched his fist into the air with a smile.

"I'M GOING TO LIVE!" he cried with joy. Unfortunately, the blare of the snow machine horn was the last thing he heard that day.

...

When Kristoff woke up he lay in a down bed of white, like snow. Ah. Heaven. He always new he'd make it, somehow.

Glancing to the side was a window made of ice, with little frost ferns inlaid against its surface like cut diamond. A crystalline glass of water lay to his side. He reached for it and squeezed it in his hands. The water ran over its crushed top and splattered onto the floor. Okay, maybe not glass. Maybe just plastic. But the remaining water tasted good against his lips. Tasted like plain old Burgess water.

Spitting it out, Kristoff slammed his fist against his bedside table and glanced around for his glasses. They weren't there, and someone had removed his contacts. His right arm hurt like a bitch and he couldn't move his fingers. For some reason it was covered in a snow blanket, which was warm and hard like papier-mâché. It was kind of sweaty, too. He could feel his skin inside the cast and he wanted to itch it so bad he felt like crying. But then there was the creak of a door opening, and two people in blue outfits shuffled towards him and sat at his side.

"Who's there?" cried Kristoff, trying to sit forward, but he was pushed back with a gentle prod.

"Kristoff, we're the police," said a woman's voice. The other blue suit was silent. "Since you are unfit for interrogation in a normal facility we are going to do it here. I want you to know that you are on charges of sexual and social misconduct."

"What the fuck for?" barked Kristoff in response. A burly hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed, scaring him. With his snow blanket arm he whacked at the hand grasping his shoulder and cried out in pain, holding the snow blanket and twitching his fingers to see if they worked. Suddenly he felt really tired. Sighs escaped around him and he sighed too. "You verbally assaulted four young girls and then you caused a public disturbance by attempting suicide in broad daylight."

Loud tisking escaped the silent policeman while Kristoff snorted. "How did I abuse those kids?"

"Their teachers informed us you told them you would "bulldoze their asses with your snow machine", Kristoff. Is that true?"

As Kristoff looked on in hazy disbelief, his jaw dropped and he groaned. "Are you seriously questioning the context of that statement?"

"What is the context of the statement, Kris?" growled the burly policeman, making Kristoff cower a little even though he couldn't properly see him without glasses. Kristoff shrugged and decided to explain.

"I am an employee of Burgess Salt-Man. Every winter I shovel salt onto the sidewalk while the Salt Man mows down the center of the street."

"Go on," interrupted the female cop, and Kristoff looked in her general direction with a scowl. "I was!"

"Anyway," he added with a huff, "I was on a normal work schedule when I noticed this poor kid being bullied in the school yard. Those girls were shoving her face into the ground. One of them almost forced her to lick piss. I don't stand for that shit," added Kristoff in a loud voice. He could almost feel the cringe of the cops, but he didn't care, as he was proving his innocence. "So I went over and told them I'd bulldoze them."

"With your snow machine," added the woman, and Kristoff smiled. "Exactly!"

"And you do not believe that is sexual assault?" elaborated the cop. Kristoff snorted. "There was nothing sexual about that statement. I meant I would literally take the Salt Man machine and run them over with it if they bullied the kid again."

"Still, that is verbal abuse," murmured the female cop. Kristoff shrugged. "They won't be bothering dirt kid for a long time."

"Dirt kid?" barked the male cop, and Kristoff began to sweat. Backtracking, he waved his good hand in the air and spoke again. "She was the kid who was being bullied. They shoved her face in dirt. I was bullied as a kid, so I felt for her. I wanted to help her and I did! The teachers weren't doing shit."

"Did you know this child?"

"No."

"Then why were you helping her?"

"Because they were shoving her face in the mud!"

"If you are such a Good Samaritan, why did you run into the street when the cop confronted you?"

"Because he tried to shoot me!"

"You swung your shovel at him."

"I was resting it over my shoulder."

"You swung it a second time."

"I was putting it on the ground so I could surrender!"

"Then why did you run if you had surrendered?"

"Because he shot at me!"

Exasperated, Kristoff let out a long groan and sat back in bed. He could pretty much tell where he was now, and he didn't like it one bit. Hospital beds had never been comfortable and never would be. He fidgeted as the police grilled him further.

"Why did you run into the street when the salt machine was coming your way?"

"I didn't see it!"

"You worked for the company for years and you didn't know the Salt Man route?"

"Not when I was being shot at by a policeman!"

Sighs escaped the police officers' throats again, and both stood with arms crossed. Kristoff could see the hazy shape of their fronts against the hall light.

"Kristoff," the woman muttered through gritted teeth. "We can do this the hard way, or the easy way."

"I pick the correct way," barked Kristoff while pointing to himself. "Which is that I am innocent!"

"Have it your way," snapped the female cop finally, turning on her heel. "We will see you in court." The burly cop followed close behind and shut the room door after him, rattling the empty plastic water cup as it sat against Kristoff's bedside table.

...

A month after the incident and Kristoff was still awaiting trial. In the meantime, life pretty much sucked.

Because of his good deed to lonely little dirt kid, Kristoff had been fired from his job and put in a suicide prevention program. He was seeing a councilor every other day of the week, and while making up melodramatic stories about his childhood was fun it was getting a tad uncomfortable. The third visit had culminated in a not so subtle sexual proposal. Kristoff politely declined to his doom. So now instead of attending counseling while living with his grieving parents, Kristoff was being transferred to a psych ward where he could cause himself 'no harm'. And it was all because he helped one little girl. A girl a lot like himself as a young one- bright and adventurous. Kristoff didn't want that beaten out of anybody, though he knew life always found a way to do it somehow, to steal wonder from children. That, he hated.

He pondered on life lessons like that a lot in the bedroom of the psych ward. Some psych wards in Burgess were beautiful- that is, the expensive ones. Burgess County Psychiatric Unit was less than stellar. It was a direct addition to Burgess County Prison, which was as far away from the city as it could place itself. The psych ward, likewise, was tucked in a pleasant little dump at the edge of town. No grass grew in this place and the trees had perished long ago. Any left standing were bent with rot or in want of a cut. Kristoff counted seven as he glanced out the window, all hidden beneath a steep blanket of beautiful snow. Looking out on this pleasant view, of a world filled with brilliant dabs of green, brown, and red against vast white, Kris realized that the majority of his favorite season would be spent indoors. And that broke his heart. Luckily the trial to decide if he was innocent or crazy culminated next week. In the meantime he would have to hope for the best. His parents sure as hell didn't have the money to bust him out.

As he sat in bed sighing to the outside wind, there was a loud slam down the hallway and the sound of clicking heels. One of the nurses was making her rounds, quite possibly Diane, whom Kristoff could do without. "It's tough being the love expert," he sighed. He tried to make the outline of a reindeer with his sheets. To his not so surprise the rounding nurse stopped before his door and knocked, coming in after a moment's pause and singing hello. Kristoff mumbled in response and internally scowled as the woman took a seat at his side. Then she patted his hand and smiled. It was Sarah.

"Well, it looks like you're going to be going home tomorrow!" she murmured, rubbing his knuckles encouragingly. "The students have dropped their charges against you, and so have the teachers. Turned out the kids weren't telling the full story! They spit it all out in school yesterday."

"That's good," muttered Kristoff in confused response. He wondered what made everyone change their minds. Then the idea that this was all a dream entered his head and he sat back and pinched himself. Still awake.

"Your uncle was a great deal of help. And he brought to light your PTSD."

"PTSD?" barked Kristoff, and Sarah nodded. "We know you had many unfortunate run-ins with native gangs and police in the past, when you were a boy in Norway. The condition of the Sami in this part of Burgess is very important." Then she touched her heart. "I am one sixteenth myself."

"Sami?" asked Kristoff. Sarah snorted. "No, Finnish. White finish, that is." There was silence as the two looked around the room in thought. Then Sarah gave Kristoff's hand one more rub and asked him to get dressed. Obeying, Kristoff pulled on some blue scrubs and a white t-shirt before shuffling down the hall after Sarah's orthopedic clad feet. When he got to the lobby she jumped behind him and swept her hands over his eyes. "You have a guest!" she sang, nearly dancing. Kristoff lurched backwards in fright at the sensation of her padding hands on his eyelids and an 'oh!' escaped her throat as she let him go. When his eyes opened he scanned the room in distress. At a table on the far side of the room, a young, tan man dressed in a black suit sat with a latte by the long window. He glanced upon the snow outside with gritted teeth and rubbed his forehead as he coughed. His thick suit jacket was pulled tight around him. Kristoff shuffled forward instinctively and sat down in front of him. The tan man chuckled.

"Hello, nephew," he murmured, and Kristoff grasped his dark palm and squeezed, his expression livid. "Who the fuck are you?" whispered the young man. He gasped when the hand he held disintegrated and reformed at the man's side to smooth his black hair. "Pleased to meet you as well." He murmured. Then he leaned forward, his gray gold eyes following Kristoff's honey brown irises like moving flames. "My name is Kozmotis Pitchinus. And I've just facilitated your return into the world of the living."

"Why?" blurted Kristoff in response. Replying came a chuckle from Pitch's throat.

"Attend this address on the hour after your transfer and you will find out." With flashing eyes the man glanced at his pocket, where he drew a small slip of paper and distributed it into Kristoff's large palm. As the boy stared down at the page in front of him Pitch stood up and set a soft hand on his shoulder. "Be there or be sorry." Then Kristoff was alone, left by Pitch to decipher the strange note that had been delivered to him.


	2. Psychosexual Nightmares

Because Kristoff did not have a car, he was forced to cycle to the home of his mysterious benefactor through the snow. Halfway there one of his tires popped. Another quarter and he was driving on two flats.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, examining the flaccid rubber. He would have to walk the rest of the way. It was a good thing he'd worn his trusty snow boots. Even though they looked like they'd been ripped from the back of a reindeer, they worked like a charm. Wearing the leather his mother made had saved him from bouts of locker room athlete's foot in middle school countless times. He thought about all that as he walked until he couldn't think of anything except his breathing. Then he muttered. And gritted his teeth.

"How far away do you live, you weird fuck?" he yelled across the snow, sending a little tuft of fur scurrying across the road. Probably a rabbit. They hung around these parts and changed color with the winter. After an hour of humming show tunes Kristoff ran out of viable options to occupy his head and fell silent. Flakes had begun to fall, and in spite of himself he stuck his tongue out to catch them. Winter had always been his favorite season. Why, Kristoff could not tell, really. He supposed that the snow forced him to wear lots of warm clothing. It kept his cheeks pink and his eyes bright, and the fern prints the ice made on smooth surfaces were cool. At this he snorted, mumbling "punny," to himself. No one ever got his jokes except himself and his girlfriend. That last part gave him a wince. She had not called him in a few days, and when they had talked last she was quiet. Anna was not usually quiet.

Making another round of vision by turning and looking in a three hundred sixty degree angle, Kristoff tried picking out signs of the correct house. He had expected the benefactor to inhabit a mansion due to the amount of money he paid to bail Kristoff out of jail, but the address left on the paper was leading him to a trailer park. A metal wire fence confined its sad frame, and no soul inhabited its outside quarters bar a thick girl with a big head. She skulked from one caravan to the next dashing over snowmen and sludge piles amidst an occasional chat with herself. When she met eyes with Kristoff she narrowed them. Then she stomped towards the fence and shook its bars. Sweating, Kris gave an awkward wave and high tailed it in the opposite direction, reading the piece of paper again to see if he had gotten lost. The note seemed to point to the area at the back of the trailer park, which was concealed by a patch of evergreen woods. Sure enough, as the forest magnified in the distance Kristoff caught sight of a shadow within. And when the big girl and her trailer kingdom were a reasonable distance behind, Kris realized that the shadow was a shack, painted dark brown.

For a minute Kristoff stood without moving, sweating under his snow garb. Then he shuffled his leathered toes against one another. When he squinted he could see two chairs rocking on the shack's narrow porch. Inhabiting one of them was a dark patch, waiting. It swung back and forth in time with the sway of the chair legs. But as it noticed Kristoff in the distance it ceased movement and stared. Though the sweat lining his scalp dripped from his brow in ugly globs Kristoff moved forward. When he was about twenty feet away, the sitting figure's face came into focus. It was strange. Different than before, with sort of a doughy complexion. It was the visage of the man who'd delivered the note in the hospital, but its eyes stared forth without expression or even consciousness. A part of Kristoff wondered if the face were true, and if the body attached were not just machine joints within skin. In response to his glaring eyes the mysterious tan creature heaved himself from his seat and lolloped forward to meet his guest. The lurching figure made the muscles in Kristoff's arms seize in fright, but it stopped ten feet before him to give a clumsy bow and thankfully came no closer. Then, swinging around on the heel of its foot, the strange man returned to the shack's wooden screen door. Its frame creaked and slammed as he disappeared inside, and in spite of his better judgment Kristoff joined him.

The shack's interior boasted a sitting room with peeling, barf colored wallpaper and two doors on either wall. One portal led into a kitchen, another to the bathroom, and Kristoff presumed the last two held bedrooms. There was a TV and a couch, with a black wooden coffee table in the center and a rug beneath it. But there were no drapes on the broken windows. And the door peaking into the shoddy mint green bathroom looked ready to slop off the wall. Kristoff could practically taste the asbestos beneath. As he examined it all in shock, the strange young man beside indicated the chamber's rear corner. Inlaid in its soft wooden floor was a banister, which led below ground, to a basement. No light shone beneath the stairs.

Kris shook his head and pointed to the couch, shuffling towards the front door for protection. Confused, his dark companion indicated the basement stairs again. But Kristoff did not reply. In anxiety the dark creature opened its pink lips and let out a long groan, before trundling down the stairs himself, all the while calling some word dominated by the p consonant at the top of his lungs. Then the shouting came to an abrupt halt and there was a swishing sound like steam rising from an oven. Footsteps creaked on wood, and soon the young man returned upstairs, this time himself again. When he reached four feet before Kristoff he gave a slight curtsy.

"I am sorry," he murmured, avoiding eye contact. Then with a cough he confided, "I speak through this lame attendant because I am not strong enough to attend the light myself. Will you join me downstairs?" Though he cocked his head towards the basement once more Kristoff refused movement.

"What the fuck was that just there?" whispered the blond with wide eyes. The tan boy was indifferent.

"Sorry?"

"I mean what the fuck were those sounds?" barked Kristoff, throwing his hands in the air. "And now that you're normal again you come out with some possession shit? Even if you speak whale, I don't see any on the premises."

"I was not speaking whale," muttered the dark boy with gritted teeth. Then he smoothed back his hair and fired his forefinger at the front door. "If you see no point in our visit, the door and the asylum is out in the snow. Do have fun. But," he added in a hiss, indicating the staircase once more, "if you would like information on our transaction, I suggest you join me in this more suitable location."

For a minute Kristoff stood defiant. But as the threat sank into his brain, which in turn traveled to thoughts of jail, his resolve left him. Muttering and shoving his hands in his pockets to see if he had any weaponry, he shuffled towards the staircase and went down second, into complete darkness. Beside him the tan boy felt the wall for a candle and retrieved it, rummaging through his coat pockets for a match. He struck it on the side of a wall that appeared stone. Then, he held the flame to the candlewick and there was partial light.

What this light illuminated was a monstrous hall, with crumbled passages leading this way and that. Broken stairs jutted from the ceiling, and in the air between their jagged edges floated thousands of golden cages, all smashed to bits. Birds must have once sung through those golden bars. Now they were empty and trashed, as was the rest of the strange lair. In its middle rose a high cubical platform, and in the center of this platform sat a bench. On that bench slumped a shadow, bent and worn like frayed burning leather, a seated dead man. His attire was a long robe of pure black, and his hair spiked from his scalp in gelled dreadlocks. The color of his skin must have been concealed, but in the candlelight it shone silver. As footsteps approached he shivered and straightened. Then, he stood and turned; rubbing tired blinking eyes before he reached out his hand for Kristoff to shake. The palm and wrist were grey, as was the face. The eyes glowed silver gold, and the teeth were white and sharp as knives. Behind, his attendant stood still, his tan head turned towards the ground and his arms folded behind his back. The black robed man indicated around him.

"Welcome to my home," he murmured, shuffling a short distance before returning to his bench for a breather. Though he was quite skinny he gasped like a heavy asthmatic. The possibility that he was battling a debilitating eating disorder did cross Kristoff's mind. If the man was a mad, cellar dwelling anorexic, Kristoff thought to himself, he could be a pervert as well. The whole scenario of the tortured individual enlisting a fellow asylum goer for psychosexual release fit in Kristoff's wild nightmare like the final puzzle piece. What it foreboded in reality was harrowing, but Kris remained silent as his companion explained himself.

"Ten years back I was dealt a debilitating blow of fate that sunk me into depression."

Here we go, thought Kristoff. Again, he did not speak. The grey man continued.

"I grew weak and am still weak, so much so that even the light of that candle burns me. Yet without it, I am lost in my own fears."

"What happened to your leg?" asked Kristoff, pointing to the mangled limb protruding from the black robe. The man looked down at it without expression and shrugged. "One of my nightmares trampled it."

"Shit," muttered Kris, looking around for horses. The whole story seemed sketchy. But he was the closest man to the stairs.

"Yet that is not what matters at this point," hissed the grey cripple, rubbing his forehead. "I saved you from jail because I needed your help. I have been examining your hopes and fears for a year. Out of all the people I could have chosen, my conscience landed on you."

"Why?" fired Kris. The man shrugged. "Because you're thick."

Not bothering to dissect that statement, Kristoff took it as an insult and crossed his arms in front of him. "You mean I'm stupid?"

"Perhaps," replied the grey man. Then he waved his hand before him once more. "But that is not the point! The point is that I am offering you a position as my personal ambassador."

Kristoff mulled it over, running his lips against his teeth. Then he narrowed his eyes.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you will represent me in functions I am unable to attend."

"Wait a minute," muttered Kris in reply, "you call me stupid and then you want me to represent you?" In reply the grey man nodded and slipped an envelope from his pocket. Within its open frame was a letter, addressed to the shack. As he looked at it Kristoff became puzzled. Then, with hesitance he reached out and snatched the letter from the cripple's hands, reading its contents with furrowed brows.

"Dear Vance,"he muttered. "It pleases us to inform you of your acceptance into the Arendelle School of Science. Though not reflected by your grades, your unique competence in this category betrays a special scholar within you. Attached is a list of famous and/ or very wealthy individuals who have attended this establishment. Term begins September 1st. Head over whenever you like. Preceding September 1st, of course! (By the way, we all look forward to seeing your bright shining faces!)"In puzzlement Kris set the note down. Then he scratched his head. The invitation appeared to be a conglomeration of two to three writing styles, which dissolved into chaos towards the page's end.

"You want me to go to a high end science school?" muttered Kristoff. "ASS? I've never heard of them. But apparently Benjamin and Aretha Franklin went there. Sweet. Family." As Kris nodded the grey man looked at him with a flat expression. Then he sighed and rubbed his face. "By the way, Arendelle is in Europe. It is an uncharted island on the coast of Finland, named after its former Norwegian kingdom, Arendal, by its creator, former queen of Aust-Agder."

"Norway is not made up of kingdoms," responded Kris, and the grey man gritted his teeth. "I know." He hissed. "The school was established two hundred years ago. Will you go?"

"How much are you paying me?" responded Kristoff with a cool glance. The grey man narrowed his eyes. "How much do you ask?"

"A thousand a week," snapped Kris in reply. The grey man chuckled. "You would not know what to do with so much money."

"I could go to college!" Kris muttered. "I could buy my mom a car."

"Would she use it?"

"No. But she could flaunt it."

"Would she flaunt it?"

" _I_ would!"

"Then why don't you buy yourself a car?"

"I won't need it in Norway."

To this the grey man chuckled and shrugged.

"So why don't we settle on two thousand per month to begin with? You will be paid every week. I would also ask that between terms you live in the upper floor of this cabin. All necessities will be provided."

"How long will I be working for you?" asked Kris, his heart pounding.

"As long as I wish," the grey man murmured in return. With that he stood and limped on his good leg towards the darkness at the back of the basement. As he did, Kris backed towards the staircase. Then he snapped his fingers.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to ask you something."

"What is that?" responded the grey man, all but his forehead and cheeks concealed by darkness.

"What's your name?"

"Call me," began the grey man. Only his eyes watched, their silver golds glowing like the pupils of a snake. Then they narrowed. "Call me Pitch Black." With that he was gone. Kristoff waited for some evidence of return, but there was none. So he bolted up the staircase and towards the front door, stopped with a loud cry from Pitch's tan attendant. The young man shuffled towards him with a package in his hand. On it was written a note.

" _Down Payment,"_ read Kristoff. Snapping his head up, he mumbled goodbye and lunged for the door, followed on stumbling legs by the attendant, who moaned whale at him as the blond man disappeared down the front porch and back into the surrounding forest. When he had ran past the trailer park and away from the thick girl, who was now sticking the heads of her Barbies beneath waves of snowflakes, he chanced opening the envelope. When he saw what was inside he howled with delight, jumping up and down and shaking his mane back and forth.

Ten thousand dollars shone bright before his very eyes, along with a scribble inside the envelope skin reading, "spend fast". While thoughts of what to do with the money ran through Kris's brain, he retrieved his bike. Though the tires were flat and stuck to the snow, he sang as he rode, crisp bills safe within the breast pocket of his jacket. Then he veered right. The east side of Burgess City held the Designer District, sporting shops like Hermes, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and the like. Kristoff had never even dreamed of standing in that place, let alone buying anything there. But this was a new day. Whizzing towards Burgess's local bank, Kristoff headed for the ATM and deposited the money. Then, he put his bike in a garage nearby and called for a taxi on the lobby telephone.

Twenty minutes later he was zipping towards Thaddeus Mall in Burgess's quaint countryside, admiring vineyards and farmland covered in snow as the taxi passed them by. Upon reaching the massive complex his guts nearly fell out of his stomach. But mustering the little courage he possessed, Kristoff paid the driver and stepped onto the street. Then he trudged forward.

The mall was outdoors, which did increase Kris' escape options. But the openness of the center made him squirm. Worse than being shunned from a building or brand, this was a whole _village_ Kris did not belong to. Yet he barreled onward to Givenchy, shoving his hands in his pockets and blushing as he glanced about. With a sniff he noticed that he smelled. Deep sweat stains glistened against the armpits and back of his shirt from when he was inside Pitch's cabin. As he lumbered inside Givenchy's front double doors he resisted the urge to whimper. Then, in bewilderment he looked around in circles for where to go first.

"Excuse me, do you need assistance?" called one of the sales associates. Kris shrugged and turned around, not knowing what to say. The next thing he knew a man was tapping him on the shoulder.

"Sir, are you buying something?" snipped the man. Still not speaking, Kristoff nodded and turned again. The man hovered as Kris looked around. After a few moments it became irritating. In exasperation Kris turned. "Hey dude," he muttered close to the man's ear. "I can't concentrate with you on my ass like that."

"Are you buying something for someone?" asked the man. Kris shrugged. As he looked towards a section of black leather he thought of Elsa. Beside him the sales associate grinned with enthusiasm. "Are you shopping for a girlfriend?"

"A few people," muttered Kristoff, trying not to blush. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't chuffed. Smirking, the sales associate gave a nod and pointed to a pair of ankle boots with a big gold chain across their front. "If your girlfriend is into leather, she'll like these." Picking up the ankle boots in his hand and holding them up, the man explained the make of leather, the sole, and the overall texture. Kristoff didn't listen. The way the artificial bulbs wired into the ceiling shone off their sleek black surface was enchanting. "I'll take these," Kris murmured, and the man raised his brows in surprise. "Are you sure you don't want to see anything else?" Kristoff shook his head, so the sales associate nodded and brought him to the cashier. There was silence as the cost was calculated.

"That will be $1,643 dollars, sir," rolled off the man's tongue like a dewdrop, unaffected. Snickering, Kris removed his debit card from his pocket and grinned. "They sure don't make these things for nothing, do they?" he mumbled. The sales associate smiled and rung up the card. Then, when the whole order went through he beamed, "Have a nice day."

"I sure will," responded Kris in a quiet voice. Then he dashed out of the store to see what others laid in wait of his money.

After standing in the center of the mall for a good ten minutes, Kristoff set his sights on another strange name, "Fendi", which sounded like one of his little cousin's favorite Norwegian TV shows. When he popped his head in several nonchalant gazes traveled his way. In the first ten minutes two associates drifted over to help him. But he waved them off, trying to remember something that Anna had wanted for a long time. She did need a new coat.

Then he saw it. Standing just a few meters away from him was a paneled, pleated coat in crème. Shearling stripes were sewn at its sleeves and its collar, which folded out on either side of the neck in a soft line. Shuffling over to it, Kristoff got hold of the price tag and had a look, gritting his teeth. When Pitch's words of "spend it fast" entered his mind, though, and the fact that he had just spent one and a half thousand dollars on leather shoes for Elsa, he rethought his worries. Anna could wear this all winter. She'd never owned anything so nice.

With a fire of good will in his heart Kristoff picked out a coat from the clothing section of green- Anna's favorite color- and brought it with gentle care to the cash register. The sales associate standing by was a regal old woman. Her expression looked as if it would slop off her face onto the ground before her feet if she moved. Kristoff smiled and pushed the coat forward. Looking down at its pleats with narrowed eyes, the woman folded and set it into a bag. Then, clearing her throat and setting the bag behind the counter she murmured, "that will be $2, 809." Kristoff whipped out his card like it was an everyday occurrence, singing on the inside as the woman's eyes bugged out once the order went through. Nodding, her expression became warm and supportive. "I hope you shop with us again, sir," she gushed, pushing the bag into Kristoff's arms. "We so appreciate your business." Stifling a snort Kristoff trudged out into the winter air and looked at his spoils. He wasn't even half way through that ten thousand yet, and he was already feeling buzzed, a mixture of discomfort and euphoria. Though a coat had not been what Anna had wanted, Kristoff had gotten it anyway. What she really wanted was a blue leather bag. The only reason she did not have one was because of house bills.

Deep in the myriad of stores towards the end of the street, tucked in a little square with a fountain, was a shop with the name "Valextra" across its front. Intrigued, Kristoff stepped towards it with a strong gate and entered. At the back of the store was a bag section, laid out in a rainbow color palette. Sky blue was tucked neatly between indigo and green, while white and black bags framed the wall behind. At the center of it all was a satchel. _The_ satchel. Indigo blue with a slight gloss, its square frame singing to Kristoff like all the Broadway show tunes his mother sang him to sleep with when he was young. Dashing to its side, Kristoff picked up the bag and brought it to the cash register, careful not to get his sweaty palms on its frame. It would cost him another one and a half thousand dollars. But when it was paid for he burst out of the shop and looked around quickly, wondering what he needed himself. Being of simple wants, he bought a pair of sunglasses and dress shoes, plus a few nick knacks for his parents. Then he clambered back to a pay phone and called for another taxi.

On the trip home Kristoff burst into several fits of excitement, eliciting frequent salty glances from his driver. It was fascinating how much an effect spending had on the state of mind. After giving a great sigh Kristoff was able to sit back and get comfortable, even closing his eyes. But once his taxi's wheels rounded onto his street he peeked an eye open and grinned as his house came into view. Commanding the vehicle to stop, he exited, paid the driver, and then shuffled up the front porch, banging three times against the mossy wood of the door before leaning against its frame. To either side of him was a massive collection of plants and garden gnomes of varying shapes and sizes. Children frequently wandered upon his parent's porch to play with the 'hairy men' as they had been affectionately named. One gnome had saliva or snail slime wrapped around his chipping red cap. When Kris peered closer he noticed it possessed a tinge of yellow, leading him to believe his father had hocked but forgotten to spit farther than the porch. In disgust the blond sighed and shook his head, waving to the taxi as it drove off.

In the ten minutes it took for his parents to register that he was waiting outside, Kristoff peered out across the street, still resplendent with snow. Slowly his gaze made its way to their driveway, cleared beautifully by himself on his first day back from the loony bin, before returning to the porch. His mother must have picked up a few plants on the way home, five of them cactuses. The 'clearance' price tags were still stuck to their bottoms, soggy from dripping ice.

Finally there was a shuffling behind the door and the scraping of metal on wood as the lock came undone. A portly woman peeked through the ensuing space between the portal and the splintered molding lining the wall, her nose concealed behind the long chain latch still drawn within. When she saw her visitor was her son she gave a belly laugh and undid the final chain, wrapping him in a great big hug that she relinquished before Kristoff could reciprocate. Her expression grew to worry as her wide eyes peered through her coke bottle glasses. When Kristoff raised his brows the woman gave a cough.

"Kristoff," she warned, "Anna gave us a call and I invited her over for dinner. She asked if you'd be there and I said I don't think so. I lied. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine mom," mumbled Kristoff, keeping his eyes to the ground as he attempted to conceal his shopping. His shock at the dinner news made him stumble when he ducked from the living room to the bedroom hall. As he trundled down the tiny vestibule his mother looked after his bent frame with suspicion, scooting to his side to see the names on the bags. Before she could peek inside Kristoff eluded her and locked his bedroom door behind him, laying his treasures against the floor with care as he hunted for wrapping paper and decent present boxes. Then he bit his lip, wondering if he should leave his spoils in their designer bags. That idea seemed better.

"Honey, what have you got there?" called his mother from outside his door, but Kristoff shouted that it was just some shopping.

"Did you buy food again?" snapped his mother, making Kristoff roll his eyes. Much to his mother's dismay, he now supported a tummy pudge from the free tapioca bar at the asylum. If he said he had bought groceries she would be crushed. And he was a bad liar. "Shopping!" he shouted hoarsely.

"What is it?" his mother gushed. With a growl Kristoff screeched that it was late Christmas presents. There was a giggle behind the door, and his mother scooted off. So now he had the room to himself. Sitting amongst his expensive accessories, he rummaged through his own bag and took out the dress shoes, placing them beside his feet with a beam. Then he slipped on his sunglasses. Maybe he should have gotten a new outfit as well.

Heaving to his feet, Kristoff returned his wallet to his pocket and hid all the presents underneath the floorboards beside pictures in memory of his annual ice sculpture collection. Then with a sigh he trudged from the house and towards the bicycle garage to pick up his ride.


	3. Buying Affection

Things were quiet. The kitchen table that seated four had been moved to the makeshift "dining room"- really just the bay window enclave at the rear of the living room- and set with an embroidered red cloth. Mismatched silverware was distributed beside everyone's assorted plates and bowls, and a whole host of Norwegian and American dishes snuggled together on a rotating tray in the table's center. Save for the sound of forks clinking against plastic, of coughing, gulping, and drinking, the only available noise was from the snore of the fridge in the kitchen. And because Kristoff's parents sat across from one another Kristoff and Anna were forced to be face to face. Anna avoided eye contact at all costs, while Kristoff pursued it.

"How was Christmas?" Kristoff tried, jolting Anna from her thoughts. Eyes on her food, she shrugged and took a large bite of stuffing. Then after several moments of silence, she coughed and responded, "good."

"Anna had Christmas dinner with us because of Elsa's internship," helped Kristoff's mom. "The poor dear would have been all alone. How is your mischievous sister?"

"Good," mumbled Anna. "She's staying with our cousins in Germany, working for their father while she waits for school to begin."

"Why didn't you go?" muttered Kristoff. Anna shrugged. "I didn't want to."

"Why not?"

For the first time Anna raised her eyes and glared at Kristoff. Then she shook her head. "Because I didn't want to go." Silence dominated till Kris's father began humming. Kris's mother kicked his leg under the table so he would stop, and thwarted, he stepped into the kitchen "for some air". While the kitchen tap began to run and a loud burping noise echoed from within, Kristoff's mother attempted small talk, indicating the plastic plates with a chuckle.

"I remember when all the women at the school were sporting their 'china sets'- china was all the rage in the seventies- and I was one of the first to go plastic," she nearly sang, adjusting her mossy curls to accommodate her massive glasses. After another one of her belly laughs she began chattering about the genetic makeup of polystyrene, pointing to the plate and pretending to snap it for demonstration. When she realized that no one was particularly listening, though, she mumbled to a halt and shuffled off to check on desert. And thus, Kristoff and Anna were left to themselves, picking at the remains of their meals in silence.

"Well," started Kris after a few moments. Anna glanced at him before returning her gaze to her plate. She shoveled the last of her food into her mouth and chewed.

"Are you angry at me because I wasn't out for Christmas?" asked Kristoff. Folding her arms in front of her, Anna gave a shrug.

"You know I was held against my will. I could have gone to jail."

"You never even explained what you _did_ ," hissed Anna in return. Kristoff fell silent. Then he coughed.

"A kid was getting bullied and I helped her."

"I know that part. I want to hear details."

Scowling, Kristoff mumbled, "She was getting her face shoved in dirt. They were going to make her eat piss. So I went over and threatened them."

As he spoke Anna groaned and set her elbow on the table. Then she set her forehead against her palm.

"I told them I'd bulldoze them with my snow machine if they went any closer to the kid."

"You what?" snapped Anna in horror. "Kristoff, that's disgusting!"

"Why is everyone taking that statement figuratively?" barked Kris in return. "I meant I'd run them over! I work for a salt company, Anna!"

"I know, but just the way it sounds," muttered Anna in reply. "Why didn't you just tell them to stop?"

"They did stop!"

"Well you didn't have to provoke the police!"

"They were assholes! One started talking about my mother, calling her fat and stuff!"

"I'm sorry," murmured Anna. "It's okay," Kristoff sighed in response. But Anna shook her head.

When words ceased the air in the room grew heavy with anxiety, and Anna excused herself to use the bathroom. Kristoff thought of his gifts. Whispering flitted out from the kitchen. But once Kristoff began wondering about desert, everything happened at once. Anna returned from the bathroom just as his parents burst in with cake. Everyone moved to the living room and plates and desert forks passed around as Kristoff's parents settled into their orange velveteen couch. Anna tried taking the floor, but was hustled into the armchair instead. Tea was served, and the party sat at the small coffee table in front of the couch to play a board game. When monopoly finally died to nil, and after pinkness had returned to Anna's grinning cheeks, Kristoff scurried to his room to retrieve his shopping while his family waited in excitement. Then, bursting forth with "Oh What a Beautiful Morning", he set each person's gifts in front of them, taking great care in Anna's. Once all was set and the four were giggling profusely, Kristoff stood before the fireplace and bowed.

"I have a very large gift to give all of you today," he sang, throwing his hands around him. His mother and father clapped, while Anna smiled in discomfort. "And it's not all included in the bags. But we'll do those first." No one moved, so Kristoff encouraged by pointing to his father. Laughing, the man rummaged through his bag and pulled out a small box the size of his palm. A collection of 'oohs' and 'ahs' passed around the room as he presented the pleather-coated container with a flourish. Pretending to be a commentator on The Antique Roadshow, Kristoff's mother and father did a skit where the box was worth five thousand dollars using a fork as a pointer. Anna's old self returned when she laughed, and Kristoff encouraged his father to open the box eagerly. Chuckling, the older man placed his thumb and forefinger on either side of the case and pressed upwards, removing the pleather lid and setting it beside his plate of cake with a look of puzzlement. His wife craned her neck to see what was in his hands, but it did not take long for him to exhibit his blessing.

Raising the silver watch so that it caught the gaze of the fire, his eyes moistened as its cool surface twinkled before him. Its hands were gold, and its numbering was white while the background was black. Kristoff's father returned the frame to its case with tight lips and nodded for Kristoff's mother to continue. Managing a light chuckle, she rummaged through her own bag and pulled out a set of Chloé glasses. Kristoff watched with glee as her eyes nearly bugged out from her head. Then he turned to Anna with a wide grin, hardly able to keep himself from jumping up and down.

Well aware of the names on the front of her own large bags, Anna wiped the sweat from her brow with shaking fingers before she laid her nails against the wrapping paper holding her gifts. Then, sucking in a breath and gulping, she reached inside and pulled out the coat. When she goat a hold of its warm, soft exterior an audible gasp escaped her throat. Hungrily she slipped it from its bag and set it against her lap, eliciting sharp breaths from Kristoff's parents. As she examined the make Kristoff chuckled and pointed to its buttons. "Why don't you try it on?" he asked. Mechanically, Anna responded with a nod and stood, unbuttoning the coat's front and slipping it over her arms with wide eyes. As she stroked its sides with inexplicable emotion Kristoff gave a round of applause and told her to turn. Though uncomfortable she obeyed. But when her gaze returned, Kristoff saw that her lower lip was tucked out, and her eyes were moist.

"No, no," whispered Kristoff, glancing wildly to his family for some sort of help. "There's another bag! I got a gift for Elsa as well, it's in the third bag!"

"Kristoff," growled his father, but Kristoff ignored him and told Anna to open the second bag. Her hands shook too much, and as she knelt to take hold of it, it slipped from her fingers and tumbled to the ground. With a scowl Kristoff bent forward and removed the gift from the paper himself, shoving the blue leather purse into Anna's lap with anxious pride. When he had returned to his seat and folded his arms in front of him, Anna blinked up at him.

As she swept her fingers over the gilded, electric blue satchel surface Anna trembled without control. With a gasp she covered her mouth. Then her body bent and contracted, her breath heaving in and out as she began to sob. Beside her Kristoff's mother gave her son a glare while his father scowled at him from beneath deep brows.

Though flabbergasted by the horrendous reaction to his good will, Kristoff stepped towards Anna and tried comforting her. But when his arms reached around her own the girl shook her head and pushed past, flinging the blue leather bag to the carpet as she rushed for the front hall.

Amidst cries of objection she wiped tears from her eyes and fiddled with the entrance door, finally getting the lock undone so that she could escape. As she flew down the road to her car Kristoff followed her with her blue leather bag in his arms, calling for her to stay. But by the time he reached the driveway she had pulled into the street. In desolation he watched as Anna's clunky sedan screeched onto the main road. Then, the light of her car faded and all was black, save for lamps that lined the sidewalk. Clutching her leather bag for dear life, Kristoff bit his lip and returned inside the house, locking the door behind him and shuffling into the living room. When he got inside he froze. His mother stood near the couch, and his father leaned against the fireplace, his hands folded in front of him. Both were glowering.

"What's wrong?" asked Kristoff, oblivious. His father scowled, while his mother's face became redder and redder, until a screech of anguish fell from her lips that jolted even her husband, who jumped and hit his elbow off the wall.

"Why the hell did you buy all these things?" squawked his mother, shaking the Chloé glasses in his face. "Are you crazy?"

"I'm not crazy!" barked Kristoff. "I'm just celebrating some good news by getting my family nice things!"

"You don't have the money to buy us nice things!" his mother cried in return, breaking into sobs. Her husband went to comfort her, leaving Kristoff gob smacked in the middle of the floor. "I do now! I got a job!"

"I want to see those receipts!" barked his mother. But Kristoff shook his head, so his father became livid. "Show us the fucking receipts, Kristoff!"

"No!" Kristoff roared in response, and his father advanced towards him, until their chests touched and they looked into one another's eyes. Height for Kristoff's father had been a recessive gene. He couldn't hold his son's gaze if he stood on tiptoe, so instead of trying he scowled and backed off, sitting on the couch and rubbing his head. Then he sighed.

"Kristoff, you have been living off of us for a long time," he pontificated. "You've had that girl wrapped around your thumb for a year. But you're almost twenty-two, now, and she needs to go to college."

"What happens if we get sick?" barked his mother. "That girl has no parents and she is only eighteen, you've got two and you still can't support yourself!"

"That's a sucky thing to say!" roared Kristoff in response. His father laughed in his face and pointed at him. "You can't even talk like an adult!"

"I'm only twenty two! I'm not fifty!"

"You better not be living with us when you're fifty!"

"I won't!"

"You're not making any moves right now! Why don't you go to school?"

"Because we can't pay for it!"

"Why can't you?"

"I don't have a good job!" snapped Kristoff in response. Then he remembered Pitch. But before he could relay the good news, his mother went off her rocker.

Throwing herself against one of the couch pillows and sobbing, she howled, "Maybe the mental institution was meant to be!" as Kristoff gaped.

"Did you not hear me?" screeched Kris in response. "I got a new job!"

With this, his parents' heads snapped up and they furrowed their brows in puzzlement, looking towards each other with suspicious glances. Then they returned their gaze to their son.

"Where?"

"It's a... uh... a private firm," blubbered Kristoff. "I mean it's just one guy. He wants me to represent him at meetings."

"Is he a rapist?" murmured Kris's father, thrusting his neck forward and cracking his knuckles as his eyes traveled towards the front windows. Kristoff rolled his eyes and shouted "no!" Though he really didn't know enough about Pitch to tell.

"Why does he want _you_?" added Kristoff's father.

"He likes my honesty," fired Kristoff, grasping for straws. "He's very sick and he wants someone genuine to represent him at functions so he doesn't get ripped off. He'll teach me business," Kristoff added with a slight cough. Though they looked suspicious, Kristoff knew his parents believed him.

"What's his name?" asked Kristoff's mother, heaving herself from the couch pillow to sit on the cushions. "Is he a criminal?"

"Kozmotis Pitchinus, and no, he's not," Kristoff replied. If he said the man's name was 'pitch black' he'd be done for. His mother nodded. "That is an old sounding name. Is he elderly?"

"In disposition," muttered Kristoff. His father cocked his head to the side and stroked his chin. "He must be _very_ ill."

"He is!" Kristoff blubbered in encouragement, happy in the turn of conversation. Picking up his parents' gifts, he set the watch and glasses back in their arms and smiled, giving them both a hug. "He gave me a down payment. I can show you the bank statement if you're still in doubt. But it's enough for me to move out, so I am."

"You're what?" gasped his mother, touching her hand to her heart. "So soon?"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" growled Kristoff in return. His parents fell silent and let their heads turn to the ground. Guilty, Kristoff gave a sigh and rubbed their shoulders. "I'm not going far. But like you said, I need to start my life. That's why I got you this stuff. To show you that I'm capable of giving you nice things!"

"But we don't need nice things to know you're capable!" sighed Kris's mother in reply, stroking his face with her hand. "We should just be able to tell."

For a moment Kris was silent. Then, rubbing his forehead and giving a great smile, he said, "You will."


	4. Ethics and the Suspected Pedophile

It didn't take Kristoff long to pack his meager collection of personal belongings into the back of Pitch's rental truck. The grey guy's strange attendant had come to help him out, and as the bronze muscles of the attendant's shoulders bulged beneath his jacket, Kristoff's mother watched in awe. "Cliff, go help those kids out," she barked, and Kristoff's father gave a sigh of exasperation before lumbering over to pick up a few stray boxes of ramen noodles. Those were shoved near the passenger seat of the vehicle while Kristoff and Pitchinus Junior hauled his mangy leather sofa into the back. With that the brunt of the move was finished, and the boys stood and wiped their faces against the backs of their wrists as they admired their work.

"I haven't been out in the sun like this for years," sighed Pitch Jr., his golden eyes surveying the horizon with a hint of a smile. Then he turned to Kris and punched him playfully in the arm. "Your family is... interesting," he added. In return Kris gave a snort and shrugged. "They sure are..." then his brows furrowed. "Say, you know your weird behavior yesterday?"

Though the smile left Pitch's face he nodded for Kris to continue, so he did. "Why did you start calling whale and then say you were possessing yourself? And who is Pitch Black?"

"Pitch Black is sleeping in the chamber beneath the shack," murmured P Jr. in return. "He is I. I am he. The body I inhabit as we speak is not my own." When a look of confusion muddled Kristoff's face in response, PJ ignored it and pointed to the porch. Then, he closed the rental vehicle trunk and scaled the porch steps towards the break in the gnome and plant garden, where Cliff and Bulda stood waiting. "I hope I didn't take up too much of your time and resources," murmured PJ with a slight bow, and Bulda let out a girly giggle, flailing her hand out as if to say, "stop". In reply PJ gave a crinkly smile. Kristoff rolled his eyes along with Cliff.

"Offer him dinner," muttered Bulda to Cliff, making the man stifle a groan. In good nature he asked PJ if he'd like to stay for supper. With a sly grin PJ replied yes, and Kristoff was sent off to the local grocery store while his employer stayed and spoke with his parents. All the way to the supermarket Kristoff muttered to himself, kicking the snow aside as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Like a child his mother had given him twenty dollars to buy dinner. He swore she still lived through a rose colored vision of the sixties, when a Sunday meal for four didn't cost two hundred bucks. Still, he had the money to spare nowadays, and he liked buying things for them. It made him feel independent. Stopping in his tracks, Kristoff wondered if that was a bad thing.

With a shrug he waltzed on, breaking from his street and cutting across the adjacent tennis and basketball courts to a massive field of snow. Across from this was the strip mall containing the grocery store. As the forgotten sports field dulled to nothingness in the snowy haze behind him, Kristoff jogged across the empty road and crossed the supermarket parking lot, pressing open the store's double doors mid whistle. Immediately he retrieved a cart and used it as a scooter to reach the vegetable aisle. Dinner tonight would be a standard brussel sprout, carrot, gravy, blood sausage, and potato affair, with a sophisticated selection of desert and champagne- aka, boxed wine and cake. For himself and his father he picked up something called Malbec. His mother liked anything. A prepackaged apple crumble would do for desert. When all was done Kristoff decided to sneak to the candy aisle for jelly worms.

When he finally wheeled his way into his aisle of choice he scanned the shelves for the off brand stuff. Then he pursed his lips. Would PJ scoff at him if he bought cheap? As he pondered it Kristoff leaned backwards, bumping into a small kid streamlining around the corner with a few friends. When the familiar scraggly blond mop of hair gave a feverish apology and the green eyes concealed within glanced up, the child swept her locks aside and gaped.

It was the kid who Kristoff had saved from the bullies, and she was looking up at him with a gaze of pure admiration.

"You saved me!" blubbered the child. Then, without provocation she wrapped her arms around Kristoff's waist and gave him an enormous hug. Immediately images of the snow machine comment returned to Kristoff's head, and to escape further implications of child molestation from the police he peeled the scrawny mess from his stomach and set her a good two feet away from himself, pretending to look at the candy as he spoke to her from the side of his lip. It didn't help that the kid talked straight at him.

"I'm not supposed to see you," muttered Kristoff in exasperation, but the kid only giggled and averted her gaze, pretending to look at the candy as well.

"I know, but I had to say hi," she whispered, adding in a throaty whisper, "You saved my life," like she was about to cry. Kristoff stifled a groan but smiled to abate his tiny companion. "Don't mention it," he added in a mutter, continuing, "seriously. I'd rather you didn't mention it."

"I won't," promised the kid. As an afterthought she held out her palm for Kris to shake. "My name is Sophie Bennett. What's yours?"

"It's Bubba," Kristoff lied, the sweat dripping from his brow. Inside he cursed for using the name of the rapper known for "Ms. New Booty".

"Bubba?" muttered Sophie with a confused expression, and Kristoff quickly amended that he actually meant Bulda. And then he changed again and said that his name was Bob.

"Is your name Bubba or Bob?" blubbered Sophie.

"It's Jake," snapped Kristoff in response. Was that a rapist name? He didn't think he could get away with another change.

"But when I met you, you said your name was Kris!" Sophie snapped. Cursing under his breath Kristoff tried, "that's a nickname," but Sophie giggled rather loud and nudged her new buddy in the arm like they were accomplices in petty crime. "That's okay, I'll call you Kris anyway. Do you want to meet my friend Jack?"

"No, kid, get lost," muttered Kristoff.

"What?" asked Sophie, leaning so close that her shoulder brushed against Kris's sleeve. Out of the corner of his eye Kris noticed an old woman looking his way with a very suspicious glance, and in fear he pushed Sophie away, got his jelly worms, and hurried down the next aisle. To his dismay little footsteps padded behind him. "You've got to meet Jack," Sophie whispered with love as she followed Kris down the aisle. "He's a real cool guy. He's the snow spirit, the guardian of fun. You know, Jack Frost?"

"Yeah, I know all about him," burst Kristoff in irritation, nearly forgetting to buy brown sugar. He thought he saw the same old lady traveling towards him from the opposite end of the aisle. She was pretending to look at cleaning products.

"You do? Then let's go meet him!" beamed Sophie, whizzing to the end of the aisle and pointing towards the supermarket double doors. Scared out of his wits, Kristoff tried ignoring the kid, but the old woman came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sir, did you tell that child to wait outside for you?" she hissed, and Kristoff went red in terror and embarrassment. Throwing his hands up in surrender, he reassured the woman that he had no idea who the kid was. But he didn't get much out before a full on argument started.

"I know that girl's mother and I will tell her all about you!" warned the old lady as Kristoff backed away. Just when he tried defending himself again, Sophie charged to his side and tugged on his shirt. "Aren't you coming?" she asked. With this the old woman went ballistic. While she shielded Sophie from Kristoff with her right arm, she batted the young man with the bottle of bleach in her left. When Kristoff tripped over her orthopedic shoe and lay sprawled against the linoleum floor, Sophie screeched in horror.

"Don't hurt him!" cried Sophie in defiance, pushing the old woman back. "He's my friend!" Instead of listening the old woman threw herself at Kristoff, who yelped and crawled for the shop exit. When he scrambled to his feet he charged out into the snow without even looking back for his shopping cart. Only when he was standing knee deep in the dunes of the sports field across the road did he stop for a breather. Soon a uniformed gentleman was trudging to his side. When the policeman stopped at Kristoff's feet he asked what he was running for. When Kristoff replied that an old lady had cornered him, the cop shot him a narrow eyed glance. Then his brows furrowed.

"You're the Chain Rattler aren't you?" he growled, grabbing Kristoff by the arm and pointing into his eyes. "The one that bothered those kids in the playground!"

Owning a cell phone really would have helped at this moment. But instead of struggling Kristoff shrugged in defeat and followed the policeman back inside the grocery store, where Sophie, her mother, and the livid old lady were standing in a huddle. The elderly woman clung to the hem of the girl's mother's coat like it was her lifeline, curling her lip when Kristoff met her glance. Every eye in the supermarket was boring into Kristoff's back. It was impossible not to blush. The red of his cheeks and the tilt of his head only seemed to solidify Kristoff's guilt.

For a moment Sophie looked on the escapade in horror. Then, abruptly, her expression softened and she tugged on the policeman's shirt, asking if they could chat outside, as she was getting sweaty. For her everyone moved out into the snow and spoke close, as she wandered into the car park ahead calling for Jack. Moments later a chill wind assailed the party, gritting their teeth.

"Son, did you assault that little girl?" asked the policeman, and Kristoff barked that he had not. Sophie's mother stood by in confused silence while the old woman blabbed about Kristoff's suspicious, lumbering gate, and the way Sophie had held onto him as they spoke. "He's got the kid wrapped around his grubby finger!" she barked. But when she opened her mouth to spout more derision, a flutter of snowflakes swept into her eyes and blinded her, making her gasp in shock. Another flutter blinded the policeman and Sophie's mother, and for a moment all three flailed like nervous doves until the drifts melted against the tips of their noses. When their eyes opened again they smiled. Then they laughed.

As the laughter bent the trio's backs and made them clutch their stomachs, Kristoff joined in loudly. Though he was sweating like hell he gave it his all. Behind him, Sophie grinned a strange, crooked smile.

"Well, let's all leave this in the past and go on home, right?" chuckled the policeman, wiping tears from his eyes as he returned to the beer store at the end of the strip mall. The elderly woman departed for her car with a wave as Sophie's mother called for her. When Kristoff returned to the store to pay for his food his hands shook so bad he dropped his wallet thrice. But he thanked his lucky stars as he walked the bags home. Something good must have been in that snow to make those people laugh like they did. It was almost like they turned into kids again.

"Jack Frost," snorted Kristoff to himself, looking into the sky. A sweep of cold air sent little flakes against his cheeks, and with a grin he blew a kiss at them. When he thought of the name the policeman had given him back at the field, though, his smile disappeared. "Chain rattler", he muttered with a scowl. Like a fucking pedophile. The one time Burgess gets proactive on sexual harassment, and they catch the wrong guy. For a moment Kris stopped and stared into the field of hazy white ahead of him, his vision shrouded by snowdrifts and smog. Then he looked all around with furrowed brows. He had to admit, if he saw a little kid glued to a guy buying boxed wine and jelly worms who told her to wait outside for him, he would have done the same thing as the old woman- especially if he'd already been seen skulking around the elementary school before spending time in the local asylum. It was just unbelievable how strange a situation he was in. Then his mind raced to Anna, and he wondered if she had kept the coat. The whole thing made Kristoff sigh, and with a snort he trudged for his front porch.

Two hours later he found himself sitting across from PJ eating a standard Sunday supper, while his mother admired her guest's brown skin and golden eyes. His black hair was especially windblown today, which seemed to be a plus. "Can I touch your spike?" barked Bulda, and Kristoff hid his face behind his fringe in embarrassment. Across the table, PJ's grin spread from ear to ear. "Of course you can, ma'am," he murmured coolly, tipping his head forward. With trembling fingers Bulda ran her hands across the largest tuft of hair on his scalp, so that the tips of her nails grazed the roots. "Feels good," encouraged PJ, and Bulda let out a long giggle. Cliff was not impressed. Under the table Kristoff nudged PJ's foot, and with a jolt the dark young man swept away from Bulda's hands as swiftly as she had moved to stroke him. As he continued with his food he cocked his head in an attractive way, and Kristoff snorted in derision.

When dinner was finished another game of monopoly struck up, and quite drunk, Bulda put on some music and danced with Cliff, who swept his hand dangerously close to her bum as they cascaded about the room. PJ watched the whole charade in grand amusement, even clapping along to the beat of the record as it blared Elvis Presley. Completely unimpressed and half wishing Anna could be there to see it; Kristoff had relegated himself to the back corner of the room to sulk. But soon his mother and father laughed, hollering for him to come over and dance with PJ. With a shrug Pitch Junior shuffled over and took him by the hand.

"Why the hell not?" he sighed, placing one hand in Kristoff's palm and the other around his shoulder as he pulled him to the center of the room. Without really knowing what he was doing, Kristoff shrugged and settled his hand on PJ's waist, and singing a chorus of "Old Man River", he swept PJ up in the air and they bounded over the couch together. Then Kristoff gave PJ a dip, before raising the man back to standing and spinning him around. After that PJ decided he'd had enough, and sat on the couch to get his bearings. Cake was passed around, and then goodbyes were said. When the trunk had been secured, PJ and Kristoff drove together into the night, the storage boxes behind rattling as they made their way towards the forest shack.

"I haven't had a night like that in over a thousand years," PJ murmured as he drove, opening the window to let the waning winter air beat against his cheeks. Beside him Kristoff scoffed and picked at the leather on the arm of the passenger seat. "It's just not the same with the nightmares," PJ continued in the driver's seat. "Of course with the way our relationship has been going..."

"You ever had a girlfriend, PJ?" asked Kris. In reply PJ's brows furrowed. "PJ?" he hissed, like the syllables were poisonous, and Kris laughed and nodded. "Pitch Junior."

"God, I'll have to think up another name to tell you," muttered the dark boy. Beside him Kris turned on the radio so that it blared Led Zeppelin. After several seconds PJ turned it down and addressed him.

"I was wondering how soon you could sign your contract?" he asked.

"I'll sign tonight," sighed Kristoff, howling 'When the Levee Breaks' to make up for the volume difference. As he thrust his head back and forth, PJ gave him a worried look.

"And I hate to ask you this so soon, but are you straight?"

"What?" barked Kristoff, turning the radio down, and PJ shrugged. "I want to make sure that you are straight."

"Yeah, I'm straight," responded Kristoff in discomfort, wondering what had happened to PJ to make him want a straight guy as an attendant.

"I only inquire because many times it is never completely so," PJ murmured with a cool glance, running his fingers through his billowing hair. "The fluidity of human sexuality constantly surprises me. Not being human myself, I can't speak for your population, but I'd even go so far as to say none that I have met have been completely one way or the other."

"Aw, you're human, too, PJ!" Kristoff encouraged, nudging the man in the shoulder. In return PJ gave him a grimace. "I hate that name."

"Too bad! When am I going to Norway?" asked Kris.

"Is next week alright? I have to sign your paperwork."

"Next week is great," responded Kris. But his brows furrowed. Anna was muddling his thoughts again, especially the vision of her tears. He hoped she still had that coat. He'd told his mother that if she ever came by she wasn't to give it back. But Bulda said she hadn't come around yet.

"So you'll sign the contract tonight?" confirmed PJ, and Kristoff nodded. With a replying chuckle, PJ gripped the wheel tighter and parked before the shack, helping Kris unload his things into one of the spare bedrooms as the sky began to dot with stars.


	5. On the Dialectics of Whale

" _Kristoff?"_

" _Yeah, PJ?"_

" _Can I taste your fear?"_

" _My what?"_

The harrowing event stuck in Kristoff's mind like glue. He and PJ had been sitting on the couch watching some television when the weird question came out. It had been near the end of that first week, after Kris had gone and signed the contract. Only now, sitting on the airplane to Norway a week after, did Kristoff realize he had been swallowed by events much heavier than he could grasp. Too bad there was nowhere to spit on these planes. Kris was getting a bad taste in his mouth.

" _Sure!"_ Kristoff's memory self barked with a smile. PJ had smirked as he led his companion down the basement stairs. It was then that the transformation happened in front of Kristoff's very eyes.

* * *

When Kristoff stumbled into the basement lair for the second time, it was a little stronger than he remembered. The birdcages were not so beat up, and the stairs spiraling around his head looked smoother, less crumbly. He sucked in a deep breath and clapped his hands as he looked upon the chamber. Old Pitch had done well. Even his stub of a leg was healing. But the shadow man was still weak. The stump was covered in a thin black cast, and as PJ waltzed up the stairs leading to the stone platform, he flitted in silence towards the bench at its center and wrapped his arms around Old Pitch with care. Slowly PJ turned the man around so that Kris could see his face. The grey man was sleeping again, hunched over his knees with slack jaw. As PJ stood at his side he told Kris to watch. After this, the freakiest thing Kris had ever seen happened right in front of him.

Twitching and shivering, the hair on PJ's head stood on end as his eyes glowed from yellow to silver gold, and then briefly black. After the black disappeared, it seeped from his ear in the form of a grainy fog, which sizzled into a rain cloud and pelted black sand over Old Pitch's head as it rumbled little bolts of silver lightning. Once the black pellets had disintegrated into his dread locked scalp and black cloaked back, he gave a great shudder and awoke, while PJ stood stupid and slack jawed beside him. With a gloating expression Old Pitch indicated his lair to a terrified Kristoff once more, sucking in the blond's fear with delight. Suddenly, he was able to straighten his back and stand. Though there were still rings beneath his eyes he smiled and cracked his knuckles as if breathing sweet salt air. Shocked, Kristoff backed towards the platform edge and whispered for PJ to follow. What happened next was terrifying.

PJ swiveled around on the balls of his feet and charged at Kristoff with flapping hands. He was calling his whale noises again, garbled screeches of anger or dissent as he made a beeline for his former companion. In exasperation, Pitch commanded PJ to return to his side, but the boy was undaunted. With slack, chattering jaw, reminiscent of Kristoff's greatest childhood fear, the Blue Meanie from The Yellow Submarine, PJ jumped straight onto Kristoff's belly and pinned him to the platform edge, making Kristoff yelp as his head lay suspended over thin air. If he glanced behind him he got an upside down view of the stairs leading up from the basement to the shack. But it seemed far. Above Kris, PJ opened his mouth wide and brought it down over Kristoff's torso, sucking around his chest area as he groaned with displeasure. Once he seemed thwarted, though PJ stood in defeat and lolloped to the back of the platform to beat his head against the ground. Kristoff looked on in terror, and then averted his gaze to Pitch, who shrugged.

"As you can see the boy has a very real problem," sighed Old Pitch. And to think, Kristoff had wanted to call him Opie. Now he just lay terrified in front of the strange man, who paced until he reached the corner of the platform where PJ was beating his head. On its side crept a long set of stairs Kris had never noticed before. Mechanically, Kristoff followed Old Pitch as he descended them, and before long the two found themselves in front of an archway leading into a small chamber reminiscent of an office. The scent of must and mothballs was ripe. But the only object gracing the room's barren confines was a broken, sagging table heaped against its far wall. On it were some stray papers and a pen. A hoofmark was beaten into its side. It must have been Opie's work desk.

"I want to show you something, Kristoff," murmured Pitch with hesitance, "something I found just recently. This is where your friend PJ came from."

Heaving the table aside, Opie pointed to a strange, black circle indented in the wall behind. When Kristoff peered closer he saw that it was a swirling hole. Purple mist seeped from its sides and twisted in a spiral towards its black pupil, and its pull gave off some sort of electric charge that fizzled the ends of Kristoff's hair. A whale like moan crackled through the air behind Kristoff's back, and when he whizzed around he saw that PJ had arrived. In fear the tan young man slipped to his knees and cowered from the hole. But all the same, he seemed drawn to it. His whale noises began taking shape, calling out something that started with a v.

"Vanka," his slack jaw blubbered from the deepest well of sadness Kristoff had ever heard. It made him want to cry. In that moment Kristoff was sure that Opie was pure evil. Before his very eyes the grey schmuck stuck his upper half inside the black hole and sucked in a big gulp of the mist within. When his head and shoulders reappeared he had black smoke rising from his nostrils and his eyes were a little bloodshot. When he attempted to stand his knees wobbled and he sagged against the table on his right side.

"I have to cover this baby up quite a bit," slurred Opie, tripping against the table as he tried moving it to its original spot. When the concept of pushing eluded Opie's grasp, he tried pulling the table over the black hole instead, only succeeding in sliding to the floor. Even if Kristoff thought he was evil, he did have a soft spot for the guy. Watching Opie slipping all over the place wasn't his thing. Normally imposing, the grand Kozmotis Pitchinus had been reduced to a tumbling mess. Now, having completely given up covering the hole, he lay on his back hollering towards the domed grey ceiling above in misguided irritation.

"I think I'm strong enough to sit out in the sun," the grey man cried with sudden inspiration, jumping from the ground and tripping again. Immediately PJ lolloped to his side to catch him. Like a loyal pet he began munching on Opie's hair, even licking his face as the grey man lied down again. In his altered state, Opie didn't mind.

"I want to tell you a story, Kip," blubbered Opie with a glazed look, black tears forming in his eyes. Though uncomfortable Kristoff did not correct him. Opie started right in anyway.

"When I was young I had a wife and a daughter, beautiful as the earth and stars, cause that's what they were- and don't forget it," he added in a snap, patting his palms to the sides of his mouth as his eyes rolled back in his head. "And then I had a little run in with the jail, plagued by _nightmares._ And these weren't the horsies- no; no- these were the real mares. The ones that sit on your back and bounce in your sleep."

"I've never heard of those ones," muttered Kristoff.

"They're the real scary ones," murmured Opie. "I converted them to horses so _I_ wouldn't be afraid. Didn't work, ha," gurgled Opie in addition, tracing circles around PJ's golden eyes. "They got me in the leg, but I was able to bounce back. Get it? Bounce?"

"Not really," muttered Kris in response. "Opie, did that mist make you high?"

"Opie?" cried Pitch, conking PJ in the face as he flung himself to a sitting position. "Where the hell do you find these names?"

"Old Pitch!" replied Kristoff in encouragement, and Opie groaned and laid his head back on the floor, slamming it because PJ's thighs weren't there to protect him anymore. "And if you're asking about my relationship with _him_ , I promise we haven't had intimate relations..." Opie fired off.

"I don't recall asking," Kristoff tried to reply.

"You were thinking it!" gargled Opie. Then he was off again.

"The _guardians_ were always spreading rumors about me and my nightmares! What, because I'm the 'bad guy' I'm suddenly involved with horses? Ha!" Then, an evil grin spread across Pitch's upturned face. "That was why I made the world stop believing in them."

"Really?" asked Kristoff flatly, not particularly listening. Ahead of him Pitch shrugged and shook his head.

"Now don't get me wrong, at times he is difficult to resist. I mean look at him!" Kristoff looked at PJ with furrowed brows. He'd taken off his shirt and wrapped it around his face, screaming muffled whale calls from beneath the fabric as he breathed heavily. Kristoff didn't get the attraction, but then again, he did classify himself as not attracted to men. Opie on the other hand sighed in longing.

"I may be despicable," murmured the grey man with bent head. "But even I need love. PJ... dammit... my ambassador is the only person I have. And though he cannot function normally on his own without my conscience, I still love him. Do you understand? I can't decide if it is a platonic or otherwise love yet."

"Well the way you're describing it leaves a lot to be desired," tried Kris in response, and Opie shrugged and pointed to him. "But see, I'm not attracted to you at all."

"What's wrong with me?" barked Kristoff in return, mortally wounded.

"No, you are handsome, Kristoff," murmured Opie, like patting a sad dog on the head. Kristoff scowled and wrapped his arms in front of him. "But I'm not attracted to the 'country boy' look."

"I'm urban as fuck!" Kris cried. Opie rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "That's not what I meant. I mean... you're not _dark_ enough."

"You're _that_ kind of guy?"

"Yes. There is a certain... _darkness_ about PJ... ambassador... that is quite arousing. As if there is something asleep in his heart... waiting to be awakened."

"Okayyyy..." muttered Kristoff slowly, taking a sideways glance at PJ to determine if Pitch's weird desire was reciprocated. But the dark boy stared forward without notice. "Why don't you give him a name?" Kristoff tried. "If you don't like PJ."

PJ was singing the v word he seemed to like so much, laying his head on the ground near the black hole and crying into his shirt, the one that was still wrapped around his face. As Opie examined him he grinned. "I shall call him Vain," the grey man whispered. To this, PJ quit crying and popped up his head in curiosity, sniffing to the air that had called him. Kristoff shrugged while Opie smiled in pride. "And now you can call me Pitch."

"You'll always be Opie to me, Pitchinus," said Kristoff with a grin, and Opie sighed. Then his eyes narrowed as he returned to his worktable. "I want to show you a vision, Kristoff. A vision of what I want you to do."

"When I'm in Norway?" asked Kris. Opie nodded and flung his arms in a spiraling motion. A bright picture began forming within the circle his hands were making, crystallizing and shimmering as the vision came to be. Four distinct figures, glittering as they spoke in hushed voices, came into view. They stood before a huge globe, but their faces were blurred out. They were pointing to the sphere's top, brushing away black sand. As the picture faded to black Pitch hissed in disgust. Then he brought up a new picture, one of the Arendelle School of Science.

"Here is where you will stay in just a few days," Opie sighed. "All of your flights have been arranged." Then he turned to face his employee with a cool glance.

"Kristoff?" he murmured. Kristoff looked up to meet his eyes, which narrowed further.

"I must tell you a truth you may not want to believe," whispered the man, wetting his lips. "Kristoff, there are things in this world that you cannot understand. Things such as... magic."

Without helping himself Kristoff snorted. He thought he'd seen his fair share of weird shit in the last twenty minutes. Opie ignored him and continued.

"There are five guardians of childhood: the guardian of wonder, the guardian of hope, the guardian of dreams, the guardian of memories, and the guardian of fun. These guardians are users of magic, meaning they can summon many forms of assistance in their escapades that a normal human would have no collection of," murmured Pitch. "To their surprise, they have found that there are many children like themselves, special and spurned by their human companions. Out from their ranks they are creating an army of guardians- against me." He hissed, pressing his hands to his heart in melancholy. "Of course, at the suggestion of the idiot Toothiana, they have created an _academy_ to educate these fools on how to adapt to ordinary human life. The most special ones, they will allow to join them."

"How do they separate the special from the not?" asked Kristoff, ignoring the parts about magic.

"From that globe in the picture you just saw, they watch every light in the world- the lights belonging to the hearts of children. In the device's refinement they have discovered that some hearts are different. Gold means that the heart's magic is dormant, but if that heart's light transforms to blue it means the corresponding child may have magic in their veins," hissed Opie hungrily. "The guardians cannot tell who is capable of utilizing magic until they meet the children in person. What better way to examine them than by putting them in school with one another? And without my consent?" snapped Opie, banging his hand against the floor beside him. As the high he had experienced earlier wore off he became angry. "Well. Now I shall have my revenge." Then he turned to Kristoff. "Here is what I want you to do."

"I want you to attend that school. And I want you to separate the humans from the true magic wielders. When these children have been identified, give me their names and I shall take care of the rest."

"Are you going to kill them?" barked Kristoff. Opie snorted in derision. "Of course not, Kristoff. The guardian academy will only select a few to join their ranks. I want to give the others a chance to shine, as I am a magic wielder myself."

"I don't understand any of the shit you're talking about," added Kristoff as an afterthought, but Opie only chuckled. "That is because you do not _want_ to understand Kristoff. But soon you will be forced to, because you did sign my contract."

"I know," responded Kristoff with a snap.

"Oh, and you will be taking PJ with you. I mean Vain. Call him Vain, please."

"Will do!" Kristoff lied. On the other end of the room PJ gurgled and chuckled.

* * *

"What have I done, PJ?" Kristoff sighed down the aisle. Beside him PJ was shoving his head into his seat back's vomit bag. Seriously, he and shoving his head into things. Beyond anything Kristoff wished PJ would talk to him. But the boy was lagging in the brain department. Despite his frequent outbursts, though, PJ was deceptively sweet. Within the week he had gotten Kris wrapped around his thumb.

To calm his bad nerves Kristoff brushed his hands against the blue leather bag heaped in his lap. Anna had never retrieved it, never even returned the coat. It made Kris worried. Though it made him feel despicable, he half hoped she was wearing it. Knowing her, she probably was, and feeling guilty every second.

Beside him, PJ attempted sniffing and brushing his lips against the leather of the Valextra bag, but Kristoff batted his head away and shoved the bag back into its protective sack. In reply PJ let out an exceptionally loud whale noise, scaring a child seated in front of them and attracting a number of eyes back at Kristoff in the process. With an awkward chuckle Kristoff pretending to give PJ a warm hug as he shoved his hand around his companion's mouth. But PJ only flailed his arms and legs and moaned louder. When Kristoff could bear it no more, he flung his hands from the boy's face and slipped the leather bag into PJ's palms.

"No biting!" he barked in warning as PJ stuck his tongue towards the satchel's lining. "That's a present for someone."

Seeming to understand, PJ nodded in return and nuzzled his nose against the bag's interior, purring as he closed his eyes.


	6. ASS

To reach the Arendelle School of Science- aka ASS - one had to catch a ferry from the mainland to the small archipelago that held its rather old buildings. Kristoff looked on in awe as the schoolhouse, more like a palace, shone bright like a silver star ahead. For being two hundred years old it was sure looking good. The whole set of islands was guarded carefully by mist, and the ferry driver held up a big metal rod and pointed it as he drove through. Just around the boat the mist cleared. Then they were on the island, and Kristoff was unloading his small group of stuff along with PJ. The two had stayed in a fancy hotel for the last weeks of winter vacation. But now that the new semester was beginning, all of the boarding kids were roaming back to set their stuff in their dorms. Kristoff and PJ fit in like puzzle pieces.

As he held up the paper detailing where he was to get his student ID, books, and dorm room number, Kristoff scratched his head. It had been a couple of years since he'd gone through high school registration, but this was nothing like he'd ever seen before. It was more like a college than high school. Peering around, Kristoff noticed the same look of confusion on every face he came across. It was as though no one knew what he or she was doing.

"PJ, are all these kids new?" asked Kristoff. When PJ looked up at him with his signature blank stare Kristoff knew that he wasn't going to get anything out of the kid. So instead of pursuing the subject he watched in defeat as his sometimes-eloquent companion hovered towards the nearest pine tree and sucked on its bark. There were a few looks from surrounding students, but Kristoff knew that if he tried prying PJ from his new venture there would be hell to pay- and the social backlash from _that_ possible escapade would be much worse than what was happening right now. So until Kristoff was able to coax PJ towards him with a piece of shiny metal he'd found on the ground, the boy was unmovable. As PJ ran his fingers over the object Kristoff walked ahead with his paper held beneath his nose. There was a kiosk close to the school's main lobby that gave out class schedules and room numbers. Hesitantly Kristoff took his own in his hands and poked his head to where he would retrieve his books and ID. This was apparently within the school library. School pictures for that year would be going on at the same time.

"Shit, this is intense," mumbled Kristoff in between wiping sweat from his brow. PJ gurgled behind him and Kristoff glanced over his shoulder in suspicion. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but the metal was nowhere to be seen. When Kristoff thought of the most logical explanation the color drained out of him. "PJ, did you eat that thing?" he hissed. PJ looked up innocently, but then gagged a little. Within an instant, the metal piece pinged from his throat and onto the floor before Kristoff's feet. For a moment the blond glanced down at the metal in shock. Then, trying to stifle a shriek, he grabbed PJ by the arm and hauled the boy towards the library with gritted teeth. Thankfully PJ did not struggle. As he walked, the shadow that extended behind him seemed to change shape. As Kristoff glanced at it he couldn't help but wish Opie were with him instead.

The line forming at the library doors was massive, and with a sigh Kristoff stepped into it and waited with PJ at his side, trying to entertain the boy with jokes that PJ didn't seem to understand. After several tries Kristoff gave up and rummaged in his pockets, pulling out a stray fig newton from the hotel restaurant and letting PJ have it. As soon as the boy finished, though, he began tearing open the suitcases for more. By the time Kristoff got him to stop and put all the clothes away again, the line had moved forward and the two were a few spaces from getting their picture taken.

"PJ," Kristoff said with a sigh, turning to the boy and frowning. "When I get my picture taken I want you to stand right here, okay? Then it'll be your turn." No response. So Kristoff moved to the table before the cameraman to sign down his name and request an ID number. After filling out paperwork, he was able to step towards a wooden box that acted as a seat in front of a slate grey backdrop. Behind was the historical fiction section of the library, where two teachers were having a conversation over coffee. Ahead of Kristoff PJ was bouncing on the bag that held Anna's blue leather handbag. As the blond watched him he started wondering how she was doing, which made him depressed. While he sighed he was pushed onto the box seat and told to turn his head three-fourths to the right. With difficulty he did. Then he was asked to look up a little bit, but keep his eyes on the camera lens. "Smile, smile, smile!" barked the cameraman, and Kristoff sucked in a deep breath through his teeth and grinned as wide as he could. As the flash went off he blinked. But there was no time to fix the image, and within seconds the camera was plugged into a laptop and fiddled with until the image came up on the screen. Because of his half closed eyes Kristoff looked drunk, as he feared he would due to his blinking. He was smiling so hard that the lines on either side of his mouth creased twice.

"Next!" called the woman at the ID desk, and PJ jumped up from the bags and rushed towards her, peering over her paperwork in curiosity. When she tried explaining it to PJ, she was given a blank stare. "I'll fill out his paperwork!" snapped Kristoff in return. The woman at the ID desk narrowed her eyes in suspicion but nodded, letting Kristoff sign PJ's papers before the boy sat down for his picture. "Smile, smile, smile!" the cameraman sang, and PJ grinned, his crooked smile crinkling the sides of his yellow eyes warmly. In line, twenty girls dipped their heads forward and flared their nostrils as if inhaling his breath. With a scowl Kristoff shook his head. The kid was famous already and he didn't have the intuition to realize it.

"Do you like this one?" the woman on the computer asked Kristoff, more of a perfunctory statement than an actual question. The blond nodded in reply, and with a few clicks on the keyboard a machine to his right was printing out a little purple and gold ID. "It has your number, picture, and grade on it, and you can use it anywhere on campus or in the city and get a good discount on food and clothes and such."

"Cool," responded Kristoff with a mutter, taking the little plastic sheet in his hands and peering down at his picture with a groan. As usual, his nose looked like a beached whale, dry and pinkish from the sun and thick breeze. A massive spot crowned his forehead, separate even from his strangest freckles. Two years after Kristoff left puberty behind him and he was still getting spots before important photos. Was there makeup for men? Right now he was thinking he should invest. Suddenly warm air curled down his spine, and as he whizzed around to look behind him he noticed that PJ was staring at him with mouth open wide. "Is he okay?" asked the woman at the computer. Kristoff nodded with an awkward chuckle and the woman pulled up his companion's picture. He looked like a Middle Eastern god. With a scowl Kristoff shook his head. When asked if he liked the picture PJ let out an odd purring nose and leaned close to the computer in curiosity, making the woman in charge blush and fiddle with her hair nervously. "He likes it," said Kristoff flatly, and the woman nodded and printed PJ's ID. To stop him from trying to chew it, Kristoff took the card in his hand as soon as he could, beginning a game to distract PJ. After they got their schoolbooks, they would see who could carry the most bags to their dorm room. Balancing all of his schoolbooks on his head, PJ hoisted two full suitcases under his arms and fired out the library double doors, leaving Kristoff to stumble after him with his own things.

To get to the residential halls one had to catch a bus from the school, which lay in the center of the island. On either side, lining each opposite island shore, were the girl and boy's dorms. With a snort Kristoff reasoned that the administration was _really_ making sure no funny business went on. Then he got on the boy's dorm bus and packed his suitcases beneath his feet and in the cubby above his head. The ride was about ten minutes. But it took fifteen minutes to get through the crowded lawn outside the dorm's entrance doors. Once upon them, Kristoff and PJ were given their room cards, told where the elevator was, and informed what floor to get off on. Inside PJ took a break from carrying the suitcases and slammed them against the ground, letting his books fall off his head as well. When the door to the third floor opened he was forced to set them atop his scalp all over again, holding up a line of boys who were trying to get into the elevator behind them. As Kristoff and PJ searched for their room they finally peered at the whole number on their cards. Immediately Kristoff furrowed his brows.

"Wait a minute," he muttered, glancing from PJ's card to his own. They had two different numbers on them. "PJ, we're not in the same room," breathed the boy in anxiety. Quickly he hauled PJ's luggage to PJ's room and set them down. Inside a Macedonian boy with bright green eyes was fiddling around on his computer. Before he could take out his earphones and chat, Kristoff had led PJ out the door and towards his own room, which was in complete darkness, empty of any bags or personal articles. When Kristoff noticed it he let out a long sigh and tried to regain some of his composure. When he peered back towards PJ the boy had already taken his shirt off and curled it around his back like a cloak. With a hiss the dark boy scooted towards the closet and crept inside, closing the door and hiding from the glimmers of waning sun peeking in through the room's closed blinds. Before him the shadows of the room darkened and took the shape of a man with spikey, pulled back hair.

"Opie?" Kris breathed in disbelief, and the shadow shimmered. With a scowl Kristoff stalked towards it and tried grabbing it. All he ended up accomplishing was mashing his knuckles into the wall. The shadow seemed to chuckle. But it did not speak.

"Opie, what the hell have you got going here?" snapped Kris, pointing towards the closet where PJ was hiding. "PJ and I aren't in the same room!"

"What?" a voice finally hissed, independent of the shadow. In response Kristoff snorted and scowled, adding that he thought Pitch had sorted this out. The voice returned that it thought it had. But the shadow it corresponded to flickered with uncertainty.

"What's going to happen if PJ goes into whale mode on his dorm mate?" asked Kris in anxiety. "No one understands him the way I do!"

"Vain!" the voice corrected, and a replying bang sounded from inside the closet as PJ tried to get out. Scowling, Kristoff lumbered over and opened the closet door so that his companion collapsed onto the floor from within. "He hasn't been normal since we got here! Is it Norway?"

"No, it is my fault!" snapped Opie's voice in return. "My body cannot leave this hut! I cannot travel to Norway. I am still working on possessing Vain from a long distance. Do you know how far Norway is from Burgess?"

"Well school starts tomorrow!" barked Kris. "You've had two weeks to figure this out, and if PJ's not normal by then, we'll be kicked out of the school."

"Much worse than that will happen, Kristoff," sighed the voice in response. "But do not concern yourself with it tonight. Just remember your promise."

"My promise?" inquired Kris.

"The one about your sexuality," grumbled Opie's voice in return. Kris snorted but shrugged. Behind him PJ gurgled again, but said nothing. As both watched, the shadow on the wall flickered and snuffed out. Then Kris sighed and led PJ back to his room, where the Macedonian was hanging up posters of his country's soccer team and various jazz singers. Once he caught sight of Kris he brightened immediately and held out his hand. When Kris returned the favor the Macedonian shook it with vigor.

"Ha, it is just like these Norwegians to place us brown boys together, eh man?" blurted the boy, nudging PJ in the arm. In response PJ's lip curled up and he let out a small growl. Then he shuffled towards his bed and plopped down on its covers in dejection, while the Macedonian and Kris stared at him, the Macedonian in puzzlement and Kris in dejection.

"Is he healthy?" asked the Macedonian. Kris nodded and mumbled that PJ had low blood sugar. Immediately the Macedonian boy's face brightened again. "Diabetes?"

"No." drawled Kris in response. "It's something else."

"Oh," responded the Macedonian. Then with a wide smile he said that his name was Naveen, and asked Kris what his name was. When Kris replied Naveen peered at him through narrow eyes. "You are American."

In a mumble Kristoff replied that his parents were Norwegian and Naveen chuckled. "My father is from Macedonia and my mother is from the Maldives."

"Cool," responded Kristoff with a shrug. There was silence until Naveen asked where PJ was from. Fearing lies, Kris responded that he did not really know.

"Really?" replied Naveen with furrowed brows. "But you two seem to be good friends."

The narrow eyed glances were starting to make Kris sweat again, and in his nervousness he mumbled some stupid response about Vain being North African mixed with Italian.

"Interesting," responded Naveen. "Is he American also?"

"Yep," Kris almost breathed in reply, relieved. "He's lived in Burgess his whole life, just a few blocks down from myself." Another lie. Though he knew Naveen would never have the means to authenticate his stories, it still made him nervous.

"It is too bad that you guys are not sharing a room," added Naveen, and Kris commiserated quickly that he had requested it. This made Naveen laugh. "I heard that the office that sorts out room numbers is giving them randomly, without paying attention to who knows who. This school's organizational system is such as shit."

"That's great," sighed Kris in return, his shoulders sagging. Ahead the Macedonian blabbered on about how hard it was to learn English _and_ Norwegian in a few months. Then he started onto soccer and then jazz, pointing to each of his posters to indicate whom he was talking about and when. All the while PJ curled on his bed like he was sick, and Kris glanced towards him with furrowed brows. As Naveen finally trailed off, Kris patted him on the shoulder. "Naveen?" he asked, and the boy nodded. "PJ's really weird. But you've gotta be nice to him because he's my friend, okay?"

"Okay," responded the Macedonian in a murmur. Then, to prove his goodwill he went over to PJ and with hesitance poked him in the back. In return PJ let out his signature whale noise, startling Naveen but raising the boy's determination. Glancing towards Kris for support, he reached out and rubbed PJ's back, inciting a purr from the boy. Within seconds, PJ was conked out. Chuckling, Naveen grinned at Kris again. "He is weird as the fuck. But I feel as though he is nice, right?"

As Naveen spoke Kris thought of something else, and ran into his room to dig through his suitcases. With a sigh he pulled out the blue leather Valextra bag and held it close to his heart, thinking of Anna. Then with a huff he trudged back to PJ's room and set the bag in Naveen's arms. "That's for PJ," he explained. "When he's sad he likes to stick his head inside it and make gurgling noises. Don't be scared, it's normal." Then, without so much as a second glance, he shuffled back to his room and unpacked his things.

...

Four of the five guardians of childhood stood huddled within the principal's office of the Arendelle School of Science arguing over who should inhabit the position on the pretext of holding a board meeting. "It should be me!" said North. "I am the oldest." To this Sandy became grossly offended, and flew to one of the far corners of the room to sulk as North attempted to redeem himself. "I mean I _look_ the oldest!"

"What about me?" responded Bunnymund, his arms folded in front of his chest in defense. "Out with the old, in with the new, eh?"

"If so, we should have a female principal," snapped Toothiana. Her faithful servant Baby Tooth was hovering around her shoulders in support. "We want to look progressive."

"I think you're too young," responded Bunnymund. When a chill wind blew towards him from the direction of the window his hackles immediately raised, and with gritted teeth he turned to meet the winter spirit who had slipped in behind him. "You're late," the pooka snapped, pointing one of his furry paws towards Jack Frost's pink nose. In response Jack shrugged. As he spoke he twirled his staff between his thumb and forefingers. "Lay off, fur ball."

"That's cats!" snarled Aster in response. "You call cats fur balls, not bunnies!"

"I'm sorry," returned Jack. "It's just cause you're so cute and fuzzy." As he laughed Bunnymund joined Sandy in the sulking corner, leaving Toothiana and North to argue with themselves. But out of the corner of Jack's eye he noticed a strange darkness pooling at the far corner of the room, opposite the open window. Had it come in on the tread of his jet stream? With pursed lips the boy stalked towards it and slowly lifted his feet from the ground. As he floated he watched the way the darkness moved. It seemed a deep purple mist, different from the black sand that was usually attributable to Pitch Black. When he was ten feet from the stagnant fog, Bunnymund glanced towards him and called his name. With a cry Jack dived towards the mist and shot a stream of ice at its tail. But his shard melted to raindrops as soon as it touched the bruised air's tip. Then, as soon as it had come the mist was gone.

"What the hell was that?" gasped Bunnymund, hopping on strong legs to the spot where the mist had just flown. The ground surrounding was distinctly warm and charged with energy that made the hair on Bunnymund's skin stand on end. Beside him Jack shivered but gritted his teeth. "I would have caught it if you hadn't shouted!"

"I didn't know what you were doing!" snapped Bunnymund in return, getting in Jack's face. Before the two could begin an all out brawl, North and Toothiana got between them to ask what was wrong.

"Bunnymund here stopped me from tailing a black mist," hissed Jack in vehemence. "Because he was talking so loud we may have missed our one chance to catch it."

As she gasped Toothiana's hand flew over her mouth, drawing the attention of her fellow guardians. "Do you think the mist could have been the darkness we sensed on the globe?"

Though Sandy was silent his brows knitted together in thought. All shuffled their feet as they contemplated. Then North murmured that there was only one way to find out. Single file the party trooped out of the office and towards a special elevator known only to them. Within the highest tower of the building the globe that held the lights of all the hearts of the children of the world turned on its base. As the guardians looked at it they sighed in wonder, noticing that all the blue lights on the map were in the same place, right off the coast of Norway. Right at the blue aura's center, though, there was a dark spot, like a sticky black head. As the guardians stared at it their noses wrinkled in disgust. "It's like a black hole," muttered Bunnymund. North murmured that he had never seen anything like it, and Toothiana agreed. Sandy indicated nothing. All he did was stare at the spot with glazed eyes.

"Do you think it's Pitch again?" asked Jack. But Tooth shook her head. "No. I have a feeling that it might be much worse."

"Then we've got to hurry up and build this army!" snapped Bunnymund in response. "We've got to find the mist before it gets to the kids!"

"We can't teach them unless we know that they're capable of powerful magic!" snapped Tooth in return. "And I don't mean flying pots and pans or photographic memory!"

"Well how do we know they're blue lights? Don't they have to be eighteen or something?"

"No," responded Tooth, gesticulating with her hands as she explained. "All of the children are blue lights. All of them have magic in their veins. Whether that magic is latent, or not, we don't know yet. It'll take us at least a year to locate them."

"Well bloody hell!" Bunny cried in reply. "By then the black mist will possess them all and take over the world!" Tooth's response that the mist might not be dangerous seemed irrelevant.

"Isn't there a faster way?" asked North. Behind them, a hazy golden O burned above Sandy's head, as if he was thinking about something specific but was afraid to indicate it completely. Ahead Tooth scowled. "To find out if a child is capable of powerful magic you have got to witness in them an experience of great happiness! At that moment of self realization they will glow!"

"Are you saying we've got to wait for these kids to have a good laugh to see if they're magic?" blubbered Aster incredulously. In response North brightened up and said he would retrieve the yetis, as they could make any child laugh. As everyone started arguing about what happiness was and whether it had to be life changing, Jack looked towards Sandy's hazy O and pursed his lips. Then an idea played across his mind and he snickered to himself, shaking his head and blushing. Immediately all eyes in the room were on him. "What?" the boy asked in defense. In return North growled for him to elaborate on why he was snickering and Jack shrugged.

"Well you said it has to be a moment of great happiness, right?" Everyone nodded in anticipation. So Jack shrugged. "What about a first kiss or something?" Without thought Tooth shook her head. "Maybe in the eighteen hundreds, Jack. Kids kiss all the time now. It's just not strong enough." Through a snort Aster asked if Jack had ever kissed a girl, and with a blush Jack snapped that he had plenty of times, making Aster hold his hands up in mock surprise. Then North snapped his fingers and grinned.

"I've got it!" the old man bellowed. "What about first love?"

As he stopped and looked around in anticipation the room fell silent. After five seconds of crickets, though, Bunnymund collapsed to the ground in laughter, thumping his foot as he rolled around. North grew red with rage.

"What are you laughing at, scrawny hare!" the Russian bellowed. "Are you saying none of you have felt the warm embrace of romantic relations?"

Though Tooth blushed and fell to inaudible mumbles, Bunny howled with laughter. "I may be a pooka, North, but I'm still a bunny! We make love like jack ra- never mind," he trailed off, hopping towards the desk and sitting on its side to recover. Sandy seemed caught in the fit of a pleasant memory, but the thought didn't form over his head. When nobody spoke for two minutes North took the initiative again. "Good love making is essential!"

"But I'm worried that that won't be strong enough either," sighed Tooth. "I mean, nowadays I hear that real dating is uncool and love is dead. There's no promise of security, and people who don't know how to love another person break their hearts."

"Spoken like a true anarchist, Tooth", quipped Bunny, receiving a deep glare in return. Afterwards there were a few grumbled agreements to Tooth's argument. But North was adamant.

"My first love was the sweetest of my life!" rumbled the old man with passion, beating his breast in remembrance of love lost. Even Sandy drew a golden tear from his eye and blew it so that it transformed into tweeting birds and radiant sunshine, which fell against the faces of the room's inhabitants and made them grin. "Cecily," sighed Aster to himself, shaking his head and thumping his foot absentmindedly. Tooth blushed as well, but her expression was one of sadness. Jack did not seem fazed.

"Alright," sighed Tooth finally. "But we've got to make sure these kids actually fall in _true_ love! Then, after they glow we'll know who is magic and hopefully what to do about the mist."

"So what do we do once we know who's who?" asked Bunnymund. Tooth grinned. "We'll switch the special ones into a separate class. There won't be many of them."

"Well how will we know if they glow?" snapped North.

"The glow lasts for ten minutes tops, so we've got to get to them right as they experience it," Tooth continued. "They'll flicker on the globe. Then one of us will sneak up on them and examine their reactions." Again the room fell silent save for Jack's chuckling. With slow glances all eyes fell against him. But instead of narrowing in scorn, their glance possessed a thoughtfulness that made the winter spirit nervous.

"What are you guys looking at?" snapped Jack. The remaining guardians were stroking their chins and murmuring to one another in hushed voices. When they nodded and returned to sizing up Jack, the boy blushed and asked again what they wanted. With a warm smile Tooth drifted towards Jack and put her hands in his palms. "Jack," she cooed, patting his hands, as a mother would have done. "We need a really big favor."

With wide eyes jack backed away and hovered up to the room's corner. "No way!" he snapped. "I am not being your spy!"

"We just want you to encourage a culture of love and then examine the proceedings!" tried Tooth again. "Like in the sixties, or the renaissance when everyone was rolling around! Except _you'll_ be invisible and uninvolved." After adding this quip Tooth was quite proud of herself. But Jack bit his lip in discomfort. "Why can't one of you guys do it?"

"You're the only one who can turn invisible," snapped Bunnymund in reply. "If you do this for us I'll shut up and let you catch the mist."

"You were the one who made me lose it in the first place," snapped Jack in response. Instead of inciting an insult, the statement made Bunnymund shrug and tap his paw to his lip in thought. In surprise Jack realized that his help was sorely needed. So with a great sigh he grabbed his staff and drew it over his back, mumbling that he was going to have a drink with the yetis.


End file.
